Brace Yourself
by Kenxi
Summary: A familiar face has returned to Beacon Hills, and she, along with the McCall Pack, wants to know who is responsible for the strange deaths occurring at the same time as Stiles' nightmares. Is he the one responsible, or is there more going on? Post Season 4, but before Season 5.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** It's not super long, I know, but I didn't really want to add anything else onto this chapter. Not sure if I'll continue or not, but I thought it would be an interesting start to season 5.

Brace yourselves.

-**-Kenxi**

It had been a while since Kate Argent had last seen the silly McCall pack from Beacon Hills. Although she had learned in the past that they weren't as weak as she had previously thought. Still, nothing had really happened since the night her brother nearly killed her; everything had been pretty quiet for a while.

Until now.

She gasped involuntarily as she pressed her hand to the gaping wound in her side. Blood ran through her fingers and slid sluggishly down her wrists like a gory bracelet. Kate held her breath and clenched her teeth tight together as she shifted her sitting position against the tree. The slight action nearly elicited another pained sound from her lips, but she bit her tongue and lifted her head high against it. Boy, was that stupid monster going to get it from her. He had not seen the last of Kate Argent.

The ex-hunter hadn't even been doing much, in all honesty. Nearly dying and knowing that she was still being looked for had forced her to live life a bit cleaner. And so she had. It wasn't as if Kate was now living in the suburbs with a job and cute house with a white picket fence. No, she'd rather shoot herself. But she wasn't going on massive killing sprees, nor was she losing control of her super powers. Mostly, anyway. So she was incredibly irate when some crazy, supernatural beast tried to kill her.

It had been dark, obviously, and the thing had come out of nowhere. Kate had been planning on leaving the small town she'd been staying in the past week tonight, as soon as she made sure there was no evidence of her being there to be found. It had attacked her just as she was throwing her little gear into the bed of her Ford truck, actually _startling_ her. Kate was all claws and fangs the second it threw her into a tree. She couldn't see it very well in the quickness of the events, even with her vision, but she could make out its eyes. Big, yellow, very unlike a wolf's, eyes.

All she could get in were a few lashes with her claws; the thing was powerful. It had stabbed her with something, and then just like that it was gone. Leaving her against the tree, waiting for her side to finish healing.

Because as soon as it did, she was going to find out whatever it was that had attacked her. She was going to find it, and then she was going to kill it.

Kate Argent looked up at the big sign, illuminated by one dim light by the street. It read: Beacon Hills, 110 miles. Holding her bloody side, she smiled in the darkness.

Perhaps it was time to pay Scott's pack a visit.

00000

"We all miss you, ya know. There isn't a day that passes where we don't think about you." Scott almost laughed at the thought of someone like her not being missed. But since Stiles was standing right behind him as he spoke to his dead ex-girlfriend, he figured it might be wise to avoid sounding hysterical. "I doubt anyone could forget about you. There'll always be a part of me that still loves you." The last part Scott whispered so quietly, that only if Stiles was a werewolf could he have heard it.

Scott stood then, nodding at Stiles to say something if he wanted to. Generally, his best friend didn't say much on days like these where they went to visit her grave, but allowed him to do so if he felt the need. Stiles bit his lip, stepped forward, and crouched down, placing a single white rose on her gravestone. On it were engraved words which read:

_Allison Argent_

_Loving daughter, friend, and hero_

_1996-2014_

The early morning air was cool and soothing against Scott's heated skin. The sun was just beginning to shine through the trees and slight fog that had settled. It was so peaceful and quiet without either of the two boys speaking that Scott wondered if Stiles was going to say anything at all, but then, "I'm sorry," was heard softly. "I'm sorry that you died so young—you didn't deserve to. It wasn't fair."

For a brief moment, Scott felt his heart seize in his chest at the pained words. Scott was afraid that the guilt for her death was still too heavy on his friend's shoulders. He knew that Stiles would probably always hold some sense of responsibility for her death, but he had thought that he had been somewhat freed from the weight. Before Scott could say anything, however, Stiles continued.

"But despite that, I know it wasn't my fault. It was the...the Nogitsune, not me. And you died the best way you could have; you died a hero. It still hurts, everything that happened, but I don't blame myself anymore. I know you wouldn't have wanted it, and I know it's the truth." With that Stiles stood up again, facing Scott whose expression he was sure was possibly a bit shocked.

He hadn't expected a full on heart to heart today. After all, they were running a tad late to school. Normally he wouldn't really care, but it was the first day of their senior year, and he didn't want to screw it up already. If his friend needed this moment, though, Scott would gladly let him have all the time in the world.

Stiles offered a small smile and said, "We should probably get going now. Don't wanna be late for class on the first day. Coach'll definitely make us do suicide runs for that, and I don't have werewolf powers to save me if that's the case."

For his friend's sake, Scott let out an uneasy laugh. Stiles of course saw right through it, like he always did, but he didn't say anything as the two walked back towards the blue jeep. On the way they passed Claudia Stilinski's grave; Stiles kissed his hand and then placed said hand on the stone briefly before getting back in step with his best friend.

Nothing else was said between them on the drive to the high school, but it was in no way an awkward silence. In fact, it was rather a comfortable one. For the first time Scott actually felt he knew where Stiles' head was at on the topic of Allison Argent. He hadn't realized how much he missed being on the same page as his brother. Maybe they still weren't, though. After all, this was Stiles. Scott doubted anyone had ever been on the same brain frequency as the thoughtful spaz—except perhaps Lydia Martin on certain occasions.

Scott grinned to himself in his thoughts just as they arrived at the school. Things were going to work themselves out, they always did. Okay, there'd been a few deaths around of late, but none of which seemed supernatural or anything. Besides that, nothing had been out of the ordinary since they'd put Peter Hale away. Maybe they'd even make it through the whole year without any weirdness at all. Maybe Scott McCall was finally going to get that almost normal life he'd always wanted.

Maybe instead of ending up dead, he was actually going to end up happy.

As the boys made their way towards the doors of the school, neither noticed a certain Kate Argent watching them from a distance, safely hidden behind the thick green of the trees. _Oh yes_, she thought. _What a fun start of the year this will be._

**A/N:** Please leave a review! Let me know what ya'll think about Kate Argent's return, and of the cemetery scene—not sure if that was okay. I think the show needs a scene like that, though, and so I wrote it in. Hope you enjoyed it!

**-Kenxi**


	2. Chapter 2

Brace Yourself

**-Kenxi**

As soon as Stiles entered the school he saw her.

"Crap!" He yelped, ducking his head and raising his textbooks to hide his face. "Dude," he told Scott in a hushed voice, "hide me _now_."

Scott just stared at his friend, confused.

Stiles widened his eyes and nodded to a door to their right, trying to get the message across. But, as usual, Scott was the most clueless True Alpha to have ever freaking existed on the planet. Maybe even the universe.

When the tactic failed, miserably, he just took control and yanked Scott towards the door with him, keeping him on his left so that she wouldn't see him, possibly. They made it into the empty storage closet, and Stiles peaked through the small window to see if she was still there. He jerked his head back in a flailing motion, nearly falling over at the sudden balance shift. Yep, she was still there.

"Stiles, what the heck?" Scott asked, holding his books to his chest. Stiles just shook his head, running his hands through his messy hair. Man, he needed a haircut.

"Malia and I sort of had a fight two days ago." Stiles made a face and slid down the wall.

Scott blinked, still not seeming to get it. "Okay, so what? Now you can't talk to her about it? What'd you two fight about?"

Oh boy. Sometimes the poor kid seemed so brave and smart. Other times, like now, it was as if he had never learned a thing in his life. Or at least was unable to retain that which he had learned.

"It doesn't matter, Scott. The point is that we fought, and I just do not want to talk to her right now. I also highly doubt that she wants to talk to me."

The bell to go to class rang loudly, startling the boys in the sketchy closet. Scott sighed, holding a hand out to pull Stiles back up from the floor.

Stiles took it and Scott said, "How about we talk about it after school, huh?" When Stiles pouted, he also added with a slight grin, "Like you said, don't wanna to be late for class."

"You're a terrible friend, you know that?"

"Love you too, bro."

00000

The day was long and overall tedious. Any little excitement Stiles previously had for the new school year had all but vanished, leaving him bored and bouncy as ever. He took some Adderall during second period, but it hardly did anything for his focus. He was almost going out of his freaking mind. Almost.

He loved Malia, he really did. They both shared a connection that was mainly the reason they had been going out in the first place. She was right there with him in Eichen when he had felt utterly alone with nothing but the Nogitsune's torments for company. While their problems in life were different, the way they both had to face them was so similar. They understood each other in so many ways, and that was both comforting and kind of peaceful. Right after the Nogitsune, peace and comfort was just what Stiles needed. Malia was what Stiles needed.

The problem was that, now, things were getting just a little out of hand. Sure, she had lived in the wild for years, but her bluntness and lack of understanding in many—if not most—things was beginning to be a bit much for Stiles to handle.

He wanted to help her, though. He really, really wanted to help her. She had gotten him through the worst time in his life, and he wanted to return the favor by helping her. But two nights ago, she had said something that Stiles couldn't just easily let go.

"Who is this?" Malia had asked him that night, gesturing at a picture.

Stiles had been setting his books in his backpack, preparing for school before they went to bed. He looked up at her when she spoke, however, and then towards what she was pointing to. He swallowed and took a breath. "That's my mom," he told her, standing up and walking over. The woman in the photo was beautiful, smiling at the camera like she was daring the photographer to snap a picture.

Malia cocked her head, as if thinking. "Oh, yeah," she said, pulling her thick hair into a hair band. "She went insane or something and died, right?"

He literally had to bite his tongue hard and turn away from her, digging his nails into his hands. The pain cleared his mind a little, but not much. Malia doesn't understand, he told himself. He had created a sort of mantra for whenever she frustrated him. Malia was a werecoyote for a long time, and now she doesn't understand certain things sometimes. Malia has a low emotional quotient right now and only you can help her, Stiles. So help her.

She must have seen his face, because she said, "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Unable to speak right then, Stiles just closed his eyes and nodded, trying not to think of his mother right then. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with Malia of all people, not now, anyway.

"How'd it happen?"

Stiles found it in him, somehow, to reply. "She had a rare form of dementia. Her brain began to shrink and there was nothing anyone could do." He had learned that response years ago, and it somehow was easier to say because it was less emotionally connected. By telling people the medical facts, he avoided the personal ones. Like how she would wake up screaming sometimes from horrible nightmares as her sickness began to take her sanity. Like how Stiles had been alone to watch the life slip from her eyes. Like how he still had nightmares about her every now and again.

Malia didn't even blink. "Yes there was," Stiles' head shot up at that, but her expression remained the void of emotion. "She could have been bitten, right? Being turned into a werewolf would have saved her life."

Now he was more bewildered than anything. "Malia, we didn't know about all this supernatural stuff back then. And even if we did, I'm pretty sure my mom would have wanted to go out human anyway. She always said that it was the way things were meant to happen." He softened his voice at that bit, remembering how thoughtful she sounded when she had told him that. That things would be okay in the end, no matter what, because God had control and would do what needed to be done.

But, as usual, Malia just didn't get it. "Well then she was stupid. Because if I was about to lose my mind, I would do whatever it took to stay sane. Even if it meant losing my humanity. Why wouldn't she want to live if she had the opportunity? It sounds to me like she was selfish."

Stiles was so stunned he could only choke out one word: "Selfish?" His mother was one of the most selfless people in the world. How could Malia even be saying these things right now?

"Yeah, selfish. She left you, didn't she?"

He had wiped a hand over his face then, stuck right in between being irate and horrified. Stiles didn't even know what to say. Well, he knew what he'd say to a _normal_ person, but that was not Malia's case in any form of the word. He couldn't make her understand, not right then. Maybe not ever.

"Malia," he whispered, his eyes burning with the resurfacing memories of his mother's death, "I think you should go."

Of course, now her expression shifted into confusion. "What? Why?"

"I just…I can't talk to you right now."

"And by "talk" you mean you can't be with me right now, I assume?" Right. Now she was reading between the lines.

He took in a shaky breath. "I know it's not all your fault, but I just don't think I can do this. Please leave."

Malia lifted head and pursed her lips slightly. "Alright. I'm sorry if what I said was wrong, but it's how I feel." And with that she turned and left through the open window.

That's the problem, Stiles had thought. You don't feel, you just think.

They hadn't seen or spoken to each other since.

He had been pretty flippant with the topic earlier with Scott, but the things Malia had said still hurt, even if he was no longer entirely upset with her. She was struggling with her place in this world just like anyone else, but he just wasn't sure that he really wanted to help her through it like before. Stiles didn't even know if she would ever see things the way most people would, and he didn't know if he could keep living his life like that. So it wasn't necessarily that he didn't _want_ to help her, but more like he didn't think he _could_. Perhaps this was just the way Malia was.

The bell signaling for the end of class and the start of lunch nearly had Stiles jumping out of his seat. Man, he had to stop doing that.

As he gathered up his notebook and text book, he thought about what he was going to say to her. He couldn't avoid her forever, after all. Eventually he decided with the truth. He was going to tell her how he felt, and that he just wanted to be her friend from now on. No harm done, right?

All thoughts of reconciliation evaporated the second he saw his dad.

He had just turned a corner, going through what he was going to say in his mind, when he saw him, standing outside the principal's office, speaking to a young girl who was in tears. Immediately, Stiles remembered his horrible dream from last night and knew what had happened.

The two made eye contact and the Sheriff gave a short nod of the head towards his son, his eyes confirming the awful truth.

There'd been another death.

These deaths weren't like the last ones with the Benefactor, and they weren't like the sacrifices from before that. They were animal attacks, his dad had told him. Scott and Liam had even gone to check them out, but there was no sign of a werewolf having done it. Or Kate, for that matter. The claw marks were a bit too close together and less curved than werewolf claws, so that was ruled out. And there was really no reason to believe that this was a supernatural thing. They were just animal attacks, after all; there wasn't any evidence to prove otherwise. Even Lydia hadn't felt anything about it—no voices or screaming or anything. Stiles believed it, too. Or, he would have, if it wasn't for the dreams.

More like nightmares, actually.

Ever since the first person had been mutilated by some cougar or something, Stiles had been having nightmares of every one at the time they happened. He would usually wake up in cold sweat after seeing someone get mauled, just in time to hear his dad driving towards the scene of that same person's death.

He hadn't told anyone about it yet, not even his dad knew. There was no reason to tell. It wasn't like he was killing these people, or anything. And even though he was freaked out about seeing someone get killed horribly, and then that same person dying at about the same time he dreamt it, there wasn't anything he could do. He wondered if this was how Lydia felt when she knew someone was going to die or was dead. How she would know, but there wasn't anything she could do to stop it. It was horrifying.

Malia might have figured out something had she slept in his bed with him every night. But, luckily, before their fight she could only sneak out of her own house so many times. Her dad didn't really like the idea of her sleeping with a boy. Even if all they were doing was sleeping. Usually. She had only been present for one nightmare, but she had been too tired to really figure it out when he had woken up shaking. Thank goodness he hadn't woken up screaming yet. That for sure wouldn't get passed his dad, or Malia. But seeing how they probably wouldn't be sharing a bed any time soon, he didn't really have to worry about her finding out.

Okay, so maybe he was doing the wrong thing by keeping this all a secret, but he couldn't figure out a way to tell anyone and make it exactly relevant. Because it didn't make sense. He would just see a person get killed in his dreams, about the same time they actually died. No biggie.

The thing that freaked him out the most was not seeing people die, however, as traumatizing as it was, but the fact that he didn't see what killed them; because he was seeing the death from the killer's perspective. Almost like the killer was him.

Yeah, okay, he probably needed to tell someone about this.

00000

Stiles didn't see Malia at lunch, nor any time after that. He'd just tell her later after school. After he told Scott about their situation and of the nightmares. Yep, definitely going to tell Scott everything.

Yep, definitely going to chicken out.

No, Stiles chastised himself, you are going to go through with this. Don't be an idiot.

Lydia Martin's face suddenly popped up in his mind. Maybe he could talk to her about the nightmare thing and just tell Scott the Malia thing. Lydia would understand. She knew a heck of a lot more about death than anyone Stiles knew.

If Scott hadn't been standing next to him right then as they changed out of their Lacrosse gear, Stiles might have groaned. When had he changed so much to where he was no longer all about "ignoring the problem until eventually it just goes away"? It seemed like now days the only thing he did was go _after_ the problem instead of staying_ away_ from it.

He needed a serious vacation.

Scott seemed to notice how glum his friend seemed, because he asked what was wrong. Stiles just finished changing back into his white t-shirt and jeans before making a joke about how the world sucks, but if it didn't suck they'd all fall off. Even though it was scientifically wrong, that it was more of a push, not a suck, he didn't care. Scott laughed and let it go—that was all that mattered.

They walked out of the locker room together, Stiles still making jokes to keep his mind off of reality. He sadly found that that was generally the reason he made jokes: to keep his brain occupied. Well, and to keep everyone else's brains occupied. That was Stiles Stilinski, always the jokester.

He was just making a sarcastic remark about some of the new sophomores on the team that year when he remembered having left his cellphone in the locker room. A couple of years ago he wouldn't have cared too much, but now, with all of the crazy things in the world being in his understanding, he decided he needed it. Just in case.

"I left my phone back in my locker," he said as he stopped walking, throwing his head back and groaning. Scott just laughed at his reaction.

"That sucks. I'll meet you at your place, though, alright? So we can talk about what happened with Malia."

Stiles brought his gaze back to his friend's eyes, glaring daggers. "You would leave me to walk all alone in an empty school to get my phone where the chance of running into Coach is so likely?"

Scott grinned, showing all of his teeth. "Yep."

"Wow. You really are a terrible friend."

His said friend sobered, slightly, and raked a hand through his hair, still smiling. "I told Kira I'd talk to her right after school for a bit before talking to you, sorry. She's waiting."

Stiles was already walking away in the opposite direction. "You owe me one!" He yelled back, even though he knew that Scott would have heard him just fine had he spoken in a normal voice. Still, it felt less strange.

The locker room was empty. So many creepy things had happened in this room—Stiles still got goose bumps being in there.

He had just gotten his locker open when he heard something that sounded like footsteps. Stiles froze, not even breathing. But everything had gone silent again, and so, after glancing around real quick, he proceeded to find his phone under the gear scattered unceremoniously inside the small space.

Just as he was about to get the heck out of there, he heard the sound again. This time he actually called out, "Coach? Are you in here?" No answer.

Now he just felt stupid. In horror movies and TV shows the victim always asked if there was anyone in the room with them right before they were brutally murdered.

Then again, this wasn't a TV show. It was probably nothing.

He turned towards the exit once more, now super ready to leave the creepy place, when he heard someone speak.

"Hello, Sweetie. Fancy meeting you here."

His blood turned cold. He knew that voice. Oh boy. This was not going to end well. He whipped around to face the enemy, but before he could even catch a glimpse to prove what he already knew to be true, something hit him hard in the chest, sending his breath right out of his mouth and his body into the hard wall.

Stiles gasped as the air was knocked out of him, and he couldn't stop the yelp when his head hit the wall. He was stunned, but before he could fall to the ground, hands grabbed him and held him upright, and he forced his head to lift and his eyes to meet his attacker's. He didn't even try to say anything, nor did he try to fight back; he knew that it would be in vain. Although the world was kind of tilting, and his focus was coming in and out, Stiles knew that face as well as he knew that voice.

Blonde hair and sparkling eyes greeted him. "Did you miss me?"

And then she pulled him away from the wall, only to slam him back into it. Pain erupted in the back of his head and he cried out again at the impact. Yep, that was going to hurt in the morning. His already messed up vision went black like a light being switched off, but he still had one last thought before he completely lost consciousness.

Kate Argent was back.

**A/N:** Oh dang. What is on Kate's mind, now? She is just always getting in everyone's way. And what about Stiles' nightmares? A tad freaky, no? Not sure if I pushed it a bit with the whole Malia thing. I think she is great, I do, but she also lacks a heart it would seem sometimes, so I had to put that in there. Besides, Lydia and Stiles will always be the best. :D Let me know your thoughts! Not sure how this chapter went, but yeah. I stink at updating, and at doing long chapters, so I hope you enjoy this once in a lifetime gift. Thanks mucho, please review!

**-Kenxi**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Not much to say, other than how freakishly fast I updated! Heck yes! I just had some thoughts and so I put them down, planning to take five minutes to do so… and this happened. So here ya go! Enjoy!

Brace yourselves,

**-Kenxi**

People always seemed to wake up with a start in the movies, grabbing the attention of their capturer rather quickly when they could have made a plan or something while pretending to be out still. This wasn't the case with Stiles—his dad _was_ in law enforcement after all.

Waking up was a slow and difficult thing to do with the heaviness of sleep weighing his consciousness down. The more he woke, though, the more pain and sickening nausea he felt, bringing him to be nearly fully alert a whole lot faster.

Kate Argent had kidnapped him.

Stiles almost jerked his head up at the memory of getting his skull bashed in, but stilled at the last second before he could signal his wakening to his kidnapper. Focus, Stiles, he told himself. His head was so incredibly muddled with the shooting pains attacking it that he was hardly able to do so.

Restraints were on his hands, that much he could tell as he slowly brought his senses up to speed. He could feel the sturdy but cloth-like material tight around his wrists, but not uncomfortable tight, surprisingly; his legs remained unbound. Stiles couldn't feel for sure what type of chair he was sitting in (that would require either moving or opening his eyes), but figured that didn't matter too much anyway. In the end he was still tied up and in a chair.

Trying to keep his breaths even so that Kate couldn't really tell if he was awake or not, if she was even listening, Stiles tapped into his other senses, attempting to figure out where he was…ish. The room felt pretty cool, but not freezing. That was the general temperature in the start of fall—maybe a bit cooler at night—which meant that wherever he was did not include heat, or at least it wasn't turned on. Maybe too expensive? Perhaps Kate didn't want to turn it on because she didn't live here; which would mean that this was probably an abandoned place, seeing how most people kept heat on whether they were there or not. Most people. Stiles swallowed a groan. Sheesh, maybe he was just overthinking it all. He couldn't hear anything, though, or really smell much other than mustiness, which either meant that he was in a basement somewhere, or that the walls were sturdy enough to keep sounds out, like the wind or birds.

His heart stuttered a bit in his chest, something Kate would no doubt catch with her super hearing. But he couldn't help it. The thought of being trapped inside a basement only brought bad memories—memories of which he would rather suppress and forget. The restraints on his hands _did_ remind him of when Oliver had captured him and Malia at Eichen House. He had woken up to a nightmare, restrained and oh so tired and scared out of his mind. He had been as helpless then as he was now, with no way out. The Nogitsune trying to seep into his mind while he was weak and defenseless—

He had to stop. Already Stiles could feel the panic clamping down on his chest, his throat constricting even as he tried to breathe. He was hardly thinking nor caring about Kate knowing that he was awake. Why did it matter? It hadn't mattered back then, back when he was down in that basement, just trying to save his friends although he ended up killing one of them anyway. His panic froze for a second at the thought that had just come with no warning label, startling him before the attack came back with full force.

Both the thought and the full onset of panic was enough to bring his eyes open, as if it were an instinct. Stiles gasped, desperate to get air circulating through his lungs, but it was no use. He didn't believe that. It wasn't his fault Allison died. It wasn't. He could hear the awful, strangled noises he was making. His hands were tingling like they always did when he was hit with a panic attack, but so was the center of his chest this time, as well. That feeling, along with the warmish one that danced near his heart was always a sign that he needed to relax, _now_.

But he couldn't. He couldn't breathe. All he could do was sit in that stupid chair, clenching and unclenching his hands, his body bucking a little with the want of air. He tried to force his mind onto something other than the horrors of his past. Something other than the thought of his dad being left without him, or Scott being left without him, or Lydia…Lydia. Something about holding your breath? Breathing. Online reading? Kissing…Lydia…

His thoughts were diming, and shadows were jumping all over his vision. The panic refused to leave though. His own mind wouldn't—

And then his head was jerking backward, away from the pain that lashed out at him. The shock was what took him out of the horrible haze, bringing him back to reality, to now. Pain sparkled across his cheek, blood rushing to the area on his face as he figured it out. Someone had just slapped him. Who…?

"You've got some serious anxiety, kid. I'd recommend a counselor."

Without really thinking, Stiles mumbled, "I tried that once; I'm still not sure if she was trying to help me or get me killed." When he heard a laugh, he realized only then that he'd said the words out loud, and he tried focusing his eyes; he finally saw a blurry figure standing in front of him.

Stiles blinked, waiting for his vision to fully return as he caught ahold of his breathing once more. When he did, he was mildly surprised to see Kate Argent standing before him. Not so much because of her, seeing how he already knew she was back, thanks to the painful reminder on the back of his head, but because he hadn't even realized she had come to him during his attack, and furthermore that she even _cared_ enough to stop it. Although, thinking about it again, she probably didn't want him passing out since he had just woken up. Probably wanted to talk to him about whatever. Yeah, that was most likely it.

Now that he'd gotten over the initial, overwhelming events, he ignored Kate, seeing how she wasn't doing anything right now anyway, and he took a moment to see where he was.

He was a little taken back by how accurate his ideas had been. The space he was in did look a bit industrial, with pretty tall walls and few small windows that were sealed shut with glass. So it wasn't a basement, but it did look pretty empty, aside from the chair he sat in a wooden table to his right. The place was probably around fifty squared feet with dirty cement floors. Maybe an empty storage facility of some kind?

His chair looked nothing like the one he had sat in right before the Nogitsune had taken over his body completely, but it was still a chair, nonetheless, and he was still tied to it by bonds that appeared pretty human proof. Stiles jerked his wrists against the restraints, testing their strength anyway, but they hardly budged, feeling soft and rough at the same time. Finally, coming to the conclusion that there was no way out right now, he pulled his still throbbing head up, meeting Kate's intense, smiling eyes.

She had silently let him take in his surroundings with thoughtful patience. How courteous for a kidnapper, Stiles thought. Once his eyes met hers, though, she said, "Now I'm curious, did you really think that I wouldn't hear the second you woke up? Please, I thought you were the smart one, Stiles. It is Stiles, isn't it?" She didn't pause for an answer. "I wondered how long you would pretend to sleep before finally coming to your senses, but the amusement was short lived." To Stiles, it sounded like she was still amused, but whatever. Kate pursed her lips at him like she was almost pitying him. "I didn't have to wait long before you freaked yourself out, it seems. At first I thought you could pull out of it yourself without the embarrassment of your enemy's help, but I decided to step in out of the goodness of my heart."

In the back of Stiles' mind it felt like her last words were lyrics from a song he couldn't name, and so reflexively he said, "You really didn't have to do that," as if it was another line from the song or something. Man, he was really out of it. Stiles blinked lazily, trying to refocus his splotchy vision. The nausea had returned a little, but he swallowed and breathed evenly to keep it controlled.

Kate made a face, contorting her beautiful features. "Sorry about the concussion, by the way; I didn't have time to grab chloroform or anything like that. I don't really have supplies for human kidnapping—just for werewolf torturing/killing. You know, from back in the day." She winked at him, like it was a joke.

"Not enough time? What, too busy killing people?" The second Stiles said it, he knew that it wasn't true. No one in the pack had heard anything of Kate Argent since she had disappeared. For all he knew, she hadn't even touched the innocent.

So why had she come back? She must have known that her low profile was keeping the pack off her, so why suddenly reintroduce herself, kidnapping Scott McCall's, _the Alpha's_, best friend?

"Ah," Kate had before been standing in front of Stiles, but now she grabbed the table next to him and dragged it over with a loud screeching noise so she could sit down, face to face with him. "I can see the wheels turning in the handsome noggin' of yours. Tell me, Stiles. Tell me why I've come back. You know the answer, I can see it on your face." She leaned in a little closer, and her eyes bore into his own.

Stiles swallowed visibly, pushing himself back against the hard chair. She was close enough now that he could smell the sweat off her skin and feel the hot breath from her mouth. "We didn't know where you were," he whispered, but as he continued his voice gained strength. "I'm guessing you knew that, so the only reason you came back was because…." He scrambled his brain, trying to find the answer. Then it hit him and he froze. "Because there is something more important than you." Kate frowned, and Stiles quickly elaborated. "You wouldn't risk returning to Beacon Hills if there wasn't something more important than your well-being. Scott would kill you the second he knew you were back, so you didn't make yourself known. Instead, you took me as leverage." Stiles felt his eyes widen. "You don't want to be killed before Scott knows which is why you took me, so that you can explain it to him. You want him to help you. You came back to Beacon Hills because whatever is going on is going to take more than just you to handle it—you need Scott's pack." Stiles felt so satisfied that he actually relaxed back into the chair, allowing small smile on his face.

Kate watched him for a moment, her eyes wandering over his face like she was searching for something. Finally, "Very good, Stiles. I'm truly impressed. You did, however, miss the part where there's nothing more important than me. Especially not this crazy supernatural thing. I was willing to risk Scott killing me because I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be able to do it. But there is something bigger on the other hand. Bigger than you, me, Scott, Derek…." She smiled wistfully at the last name, but sardonically at the same time. What a psycho. "I do need Scott's help, however, and that is why I snatched you lovely thing up."

And just like that, her sort of business tone shifted, as did the topic of their conversation. "You know, I still remember when you were so full of energy that you rarely ever moved at all without some sort of flailing of the limbs." Kate licked her lips, an unreadable expression passing her face like a shadow. "Look at you now. Not nearly as many jokes or jitters as before. Something horrible must have happened to you as to have taken so much of that away. It's almost as if you've finally grown up, Stiles Stilinski."

Stiles looked away, not wanting her to see any pain at all in his eyes. Reality happened. The Nogitsune happened. Peter Freaking Hale happened. He took in a slow breath, throwing the mask back on. "Well you know, dealing with psycho maniacs like yourself tends to raise kids like us up so fast." He let the spite flavor his words like muscle memory. "So what was that you were saying before? About something being bigger than you…?"

She smirked, but didn't call him on the former joke. "Yes, there's a new monster in town. It attacked me a few days ago, and I want to kill it. If I do recall correctly, I believe there have been four or so deaths in the neighborhood? I'm just about positive that's what we're looking for. Scott McCall is really the one who needs _my_ help."

Any calm that had harbored itself in his body disappeared in an instant. The cool air in the building was suddenly freezing, and goose bumps prickled his arms and neck. "You're saying that whatever has been killing those people is supernatural?"

Kate rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me that you knew people were dying and _actually _believed it was anything but." It wasn't a question.

A shaky breath left Stiles' mouth, and he turned his gaze away from Kate. The nightmares were undoubtedly a part of this then. They weren't a coincidence if this really was supernatural. Deep down, Stiles guiltily did feel that there was more to this than animal attacks. After all, three is a pattern, right? But after everything that they'd been through, maybe they'd all just wanted it to be something normal. Something that they couldn't control.

If only they were so lucky.

Stiles cleared his throat, finally bringing himself to face Kate again. Her expression was pretty much blank. "I guess this is the part where we call Scott, then."

Kate Argent smiled.

**A/N:** Anything ya'll are hoping to see in upcoming chapters? What do you think is going on? Let me know in the comments, please review! Thanks mucho!

**-Kenxi**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** To Shadow-wolf78: Sorry about the Malia and Stiles thing. I really do love her. I think she is a flipping awesome character, and hopefully it shows a bit in this chapter. I just see so many relationship problems in her future with her personality and past. I felt that that scene would have been an interesting one to see on the show. And I've always thought that Stiles and Lydia had more chemistry than Malia and him. Not sure if there'll be much romance in this story, but we shall see. Hope you forgive me and like this chapter! Thanks for your review!

(And also thanks to the others who reviewed—much appreciated.)

Brace yourselves

**-Kenxi**

Sure, Lydia Martin had been through some serious crap in her lifetime, hadn't everyone? She may have turned all Wailing Woman a while ago, but that didn't mean that she suddenly lacked the ability to do hair and makeup, talk about boys, observe when a certain girl was purposefully avoiding a certain guy, as well as said guy avoiding said girl.

No, it did not.

"So, Malia." Lydia smiled sweetly as she fell into step with the werecoyote. Malia jumped visibly like she had been caught doing something wrong. Oh yes, Lydia knew exactly what was going on.

The bell for the end of class had just rung and everyone was piling out through the school doors. As if she wouldn't notice, Malia hadn't sat at lunch with the pack today—where Stiles had been—and she had been far more snappy and uptight than her usual snappy and uptightness. Stiles had been about the same level of weird, although that wasn't entirely abnormal for him. Over the last year or so it seemed he had grown a bit past the entirely consistent, non-stop lack of seriousness. Which wasn't surprising, considering everything he'd been through. Everything _they'd_ been through. But today he had fallen back into the super hyperactive jumpiness. If he hadn't grown his hair out and finally bought a decent wardrobe, Lydia might have thought that they were back in sophomore year or something, back when she hardly knew who he was. Nonetheless, she knew something was going on. She was Lydia Martin, after all.

Malia glanced around as if making sure that there wasn't a certain someone with her. The brightness of the sun was making her hair shimmer like darkened gold. "Me? What?" They walked towards the parking lot basically aimlessly.

Lydia just brightened her smile, tilted her head, and tossed her hair back. "I know something is going on with you and Stiles. Just tell me already, might as well spit it out."

By some unspoken agreement, they stopped walking, standing in the midst of a bunch of used cars. People walking past them hurriedly, obviously not wanting to be caught outside without purpose. With the few deaths of late, students were told to not hang out in one place for too long too late in the evening, and to always have someone with them when outdoors. It felt somewhat strict to many people, but not to Lydia. She knew what was out there, unlike most. So she had no trouble with the new suggestions/rules.

Malia pursed her lips in defeat. "Fine. Strength in numbers, right?" Lydia nodded eagerly, although she didn't really know what that had to do with the conversation. "Let's go to your house and talk, my dad, well, adopted father, I guess, is kind of weird around people I bring over, so I'd rather not talk there."

"And when you say, 'people I bring over,' I assume you mean Stiles, right?"

Malia's eyes flashed a brilliant blue at that, but Lydia held her ground with only a small swallow at the threatening action. Then her eyes faded once more to their original dark color, and she looked around her again, albeit this time like she was looking _for _something. Not to shy away.

"So," she asked, "where'd you park?"

00000

Against her wanting in having a girl talk, Lydia almost hit Malia upon hearing what she had said in her conversation with Stiles.

She couldn't imagine what Stiles could possibly have been feeling in that position, but all it did was upset Lydia. As much as she so desired to give the girl a serious verbal slap, she knew that it probably wouldn't do much anyway. All she could really do was have Malia talk to her. If Lydia lashed out, Malia would get even more defensive than she already was. And that would collapse the whole operation.

Malia shifted uncomfortably on the colorful, cushy bed, whereas Lydia was totally relaxed into it, despite her tense emotions.

"Sorry," Malia said after she had finished the story. "I'm not really good at this 'girl talk' thing, or however you put it."

Lydia sighed, trying to keep her exasperation and frustration at bay. "It's because you're not used to too many normal things yet, sweetheart. Just say how you feel about all of this. What you were thinking and such. Come on, spill."

Malia smoothed her hair a bit and shifted again, finally leaning back against the headboard of the bed with Lydia. "I didn't know he was so sensitive about his mother. I said that she was selfish because he said that if she had had the chance to live, she probably wouldn't have taken it. I mean, why would you choose to die rather than survive life? With your _son_? It seemed selfish to me is all. I would never leave Stiles. Why would anyone ever want to? He is so incredible, for a human being." It sounded as if she was getting rather worked up about the whole thing as she continued, and Lydia felt a little sorry for her. In a way, Malia's logic made sense, but at the same time she knew that it was totally and completely wrong.

The werecoyote continued, however, before Lydia could say anything. "I guess I feel like he understands me entirely, sometimes, but other times he is just like everybody else. Clueless." She folded her arms and frowned. "I mean, I get that people are really sensitive about certain things, Stiles has told me that, _repeatedly_. But I just don't understand why that means that I can't express what I'm thinking all the time."

Oh, boy. This was one of those conversations that most people had at a pretty early age. With themselves. Not really a vocalized one, but Malia was basically an exception to every rule. "Look, Malia," Lydia started, not entirely sure how she wanted to go about with this. "Over the course of forever, some genius decided that people weren't allowed to say what they feel all of the time. Pretty dumb, I know. But for certain things, even if you feel differently than someone else, it just isn't appropriate to give audio to those feelings. For instance, if you see someone with a hideous orange shirt and an awful green jacket, you wouldn't tell them that it was ugly, because clearly they like it since they're wearing it. Telling them how you feel in that situation might just make them sad or angry, so instead we tell them what they want to hear, even if it isn't the truth."

Of course, Lydia used to tell people what she thought of them back in the day no matter _how_ it made them feel, but she wasn't about to bring that up. Besides, her case had been different. Lydia had mostly wanted to hurt people so that she could keep charge of the school. Malia stated her opinions because it was just how she felt.

Lydia could immediately tell that Malia still didn't understand, but the girl didn't say it. She just sighed and let her shoulders fall. And that was when Lydia finally noticed something that had never even crossed her sensitive mind before. How had she not caught it?

Malia was miserable.

She had spent a great deal of her life as a full on coyote, but still. It was clear that she was sleeping, seeing the lack of shadows under her eyes and the acute awareness of things around her. And yet Malia looked tired. Tired of not understanding the crazy freaking world she had been pulled into once more against her will. Tired of people still trying to explain things that she had no clue about. Tired of messing up over and over again.

Lydia flinched at how far she had gone into her thoughts, like catching herself as her eyes slipped shut when she was supposed to be doing her simple homework as opposed to sleeping. She didn't know how she knew that that was exactly what Malia was feeling, but she knew. The werecoyote was just struggling to find her place in this world probably even more than Lydia herself was. Perhaps they had more in common that she had originally thought.

"Hey, Malia," Lydia whispered softly, nudging the girl beside her. Malia turned to look at her slowly, and for once she didn't even try to hide her feelings under a defiant or blank mask. "Things are going to work themselves out, you'll see. Everything is going to turn out okay in the end."

Malia's face screwed up together into a raw, pained expression. "You don't get it, Lydia. Stiles has been the only thing keeping me from losing my mind, and I'm pretty sure I helped keep him from losing his. I thought we needed each other, but now he's pushing me away and—"

"We'll figure it out, okay?" Lydia cut in. "Stiles won't just leave you because of a fight. He isn't like that. Heck, he still cares about me even though I've hurt him an astronomical number of times. I don't deserve that," she added softly, not meeting Malia's eyes. Heaven only knew why he had ever cared for her so much. Finally she took a breath and made contact again. "That's what Stiles does. He helps people. Even those who don't deserve it. So don't give up on Stiles now, Malia, because he isn't going to give up on you."

Relief and gratitude flooded her face at the words. "Is that what you meant before? About not telling people the truth so that their feelings don't hurt? Because I think it makes a little sense now as to why it is the socially accepted response." A smile framed Malia's lips so that Lydia knew she was joking. Or mostly joking, anyway. Maybe Lydia's words had only mostly been truth. Who knew?

So Lydia laughed a little, and soon they were both laughing together, albeit a bit hysterically. Two people who barely knew each other, laughing like best friends. The thought brought images of Allison to her mind, and pain burned in her chest right where her heart was. She noticed something about it, however.

The pain wasn't as bad as it used to be.

"What do you say I help you out with the Stiles problem, and others, perhaps," Lydia said once they were no longer crying with laughter. "I can try and help you understand human emotions a bit better than a guy can, give you some examples and such. And then after we talk, I can take you over to his house, and you two can work it out. Does that sound okay?"

Malia smiled. A real, genuine smile with all her teeth showing.

"Yeah," she relaxed even more into the comfy bed, "that sounds perfect."

00000

Stiles was right. Scott really was a terrible friend.

He had gone over to Kira's, like he had planned. The thing was that after nearly three hours after the end of practice, he still hadn't left.

Scott glanced at his phone again, nervously. He had been expecting a giant text bomb from Stiles—a series of texts in a row to catch ones attention—but he hadn't gotten a single message from his friend since he had left. Scott had sent a message after the first hour at Kira's, to tell Stiles that'd he'd probably be a little late, but nothing had come back from it. Not a spiteful comment or all caps, nothing. It was more than a little disconcerting.

"I think you should go talk to Stiles, Scott."

His head shot up in alarm. "Wha-at? Who?" He tried not to wince. Smooth, McCall.

They had been talking on her bed for the last few hours. Nothing hot and spicy or anything, just regular talking about teachers and weird fads going on, their likes and dislikes. It was nice. With Allison he felt that a lot of their relationship had been passion. Which was glorious, of course, but he felt calm with Kira. Unless supernatural monsters were attacking them. Or unless Stiles wasn't answering any of his texts and he was really super worried about him.

Kira smiled at him without an ounce of anger or exasperation. Maybe a little disappointment, but that was it. "Please, Scott. That is the umpteenth time you've checked your phone. Clearly you need to talk to him."

Scott finally gave in at that, sighing. He didn't even bother asking how she knew it was Stiles he had been waiting contact from. There wasn't really anyone else he texted much, anyway. "I was supposed to meet him after school, but I got distracted," he offered a sheepish smile. "Stiles is normally one to guilt trip me and stuff, but he hasn't said anything. It's just not like him. He always keeps his phone on, so…."

"Like I said, you should probably just go and see him already. You've wasted enough time on me." Kira's cheeks went a bit pink when she said that, and she tucked her bottom lip under her top one in embarrassment. Goodness, she was beautiful.

Scott leaned in and kissed one rosy cheek lightly and whispered, "Nothing concerning you is a waste of time."

She was blushing even more as he pulled away, but she attempted to straighten her face out of its smile so as to appear serious, he assumed. It was incredibly adorable. "Except when you try arguing with me. Now that _is_ a waste of time." For all of her effort not to, she ended up grinning again anyway. Scott reflected her expression with his own.

"Nope. Definitely not a waste of time."

Kira made a face at him, and he knew that she was right. He needed to talk to Stiles. Whatever had happened with Malia had clearly bothered him, and Scott could also tell that he wasn't sleeping well—again. Something was going on, and he was going to figure it out.

With another kiss, this time on the lips, Scott was finally able to pull himself away from the girl whom he loved. But just as he was closing the door to her house behind him, he caught the familiar scent of a certain werecoyote.

And there she was, just a few meters away, standing on the sidewalk. In the car parked by the curb was Lydia Martin. What was going on?

"Scott," Malia said pointedly, her arms folded across her chest. Uh, oh. "Just tell me where Stiles is. I really just want to talk to him, that's all."

"He's just at—"

"Don't tell me he's at his house, Scott," Malia interrupted. Determination was set in her dark brown eyes. "We were just there, and he isn't. I _need_ to talk to him, Scott. What happened is my fault, I think." It looked like she was doing a whole lot more thinking than that. Scott had never seen her eyes more thoughtful since he had met her.

He shook his head. "If he's not at his house, then I have no clue where he is. I was supposed to meet him there." Hours ago, he added mentally. It was around seven now; the sun was just about gone. Maybe Stiles had gotten bored waiting for him and went to go meet Malia?

Malia huffed and let her arms drop to her sides.

Scott winced. "I really am sorry. I've been trying to get ahold of him, too. Have you tried contacting his dad?"

Before either Malia or Lydia—who'd been silent thus far—could answer, Scott's phone began ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket. Who knew? Maybe it was Stiles. So sure of that idea, he didn't even bother checking the caller ID.

"Stiles?" He blurted, wanting to hear his friend's voice, just to make sure he was okay. His car broke down. His phone broke or died and he couldn't find the charger. He had to grab dinner for his dad. _Any_ excuse would have been like music to his ears.

But, of course, nothing was ever that simple.

"Nope, sorry, Scotty. It's your other good friend. Remember me?"

Scott felt his heart sink and his blood freeze. Dimly, he was aware that Malia had stiffened, using her sensitive hearing, and that Lydia was getting out of her car, but it was like hearing it through water.

He forced his voice to work, although it sounded hoarse to his own ears. "If you hurt him, I _swear_—"

"Oh please, Scott. Your friend is fine. He's just with me to make sure you don't kill me. Because if you try, I will not hesitate to rip his head off with my teeth. I just want to talk."

"Nothing you have to say is as important as to have kidnaped Stiles. Why did you come back to Beacon Hills?" He could feel that his body was shaking, and his words came out as such with an added harshness.

"Is that his name? He's just so taken for granted all the time by everyone—_including you_—that I tend to forget his name."

"What do you _want_, Kate?" Scott seethed.

She paused on the other end. "I want to help you, Scott. There is a monster other than me in your midst, and you didn't even know it. The animal killing all those people? I want to help you get rid of it, but you have to promise to not kill me while I do so, understand?"

What? But that wasn't supernatural. The attacks were just animal ones. "You're lying," he settled on saying.

There was a sigh, and then, "Here, talk to Stiles. He knows that I'm telling the truth. Like I said, he's taken for granted far too often." Rustling sounds followed.

"Scott?"

He let out a breath that he hadn't even realized he had been holding. "Stiles?" He breathed. "Stiles, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Scott. Just a concussion, I think. I know this is crazy to say, but Kate isn't lying about this. For once. I mean, she has her own personal reasons for wanting to kill the thing, but the point is that she wants to kill it." He sounded okay, maybe a little tired and breathless, but okay. Stiles trailed off then, however, as if he was hesitating to say something else. "Also, I've been having these dreams. I'll tell you about that later, but listen to Kate. I hate it as much as you, but I don't think this is a trick. Don't kill her, please. I'd like to live to get my butt kicked in Lacrosse some more. And to do some butt-kicking of my own." The last bit held a hint of humor, but Scott was still hesitant in his friend's words.

"You hear that, Scotty?" Kate was talking again. "I'm one of the good guys, for now. Let's just get rid of this one baddie, and then I'm gone for good, alright?"

Scott didn't want to. More than almost anything, he didn't want to believe her. But this was Stiles. This was Beacon Hills. If Kate Argent knew anything and could help save the town, then he was going to have to take this chance.

"Alright," he said. "But if you so much as act like you're going to betray us, I'll kill you myself. Is that understood?"

"I don't think you really want to make threats while I'm the one holding the best friend."

Scott felt his eyes flash red, and he growled low and deadly. "_Is that understood_?" He repeated menacingly.

He could imagine Kate rolling her eyes on the other side. "Sure, sure, don't get all Alpha on me now. I'll behave. It's a deal then?"

Now Scott was hesitating, not really wanting to be so direct about what he was doing here. Making deals with Kate Argent was not on his to-do list for the day. And although she could have been threatening Stiles to make him say what he did, Scott had a feeling in his gut that told him Stiles was telling the absolute truth. Or maybe that was the werewolf hearing.

"It's a deal," he finally ground out into the slippery phone through his teeth. He was suddenly sharply aware of Malia and Lydia watching him intently. He tried to ignore them as he finished his conversation with Kate.

"Great," came Kate's quick reply. "I'll send you the coordinates for where to meet us. We have much to discuss. But remember, no killing." And then the line went dead. Scott suddenly felt exhausted, and he let his hand that held the phone fall limply to his side.

Lydia was frowning, looking exceedingly confused as to what was going on, and Malia was nodding at him as if to say, "You did the right thing." But Scott couldn't even form any words. All he could do was repeat the same ones over and over again inside his mind.

What had he done?

**A/N:** Oh, dang. Has Scott just made a deal with the devil? Let me know what ya'll think! Sorry about the slowness of things, I say that a scene will only take a second to write, and then thirty minutes later I'm just finishing it. Whoopsy. I tend to trail…off…. Anyway! Please leave a review if you've got a minute, I'd love to hear thoughts, and feelings. Thanks mucho!

**-Kenxi**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I stink at updating, I know. I had to do this huge leadership thing, and life has been nuts. The chapter is a bit choppy, I apologize, and I didn't really edit, but try to understand and enjoy anyway! Thank you so much, all of ya'll.

Oh! And just to put a disclaimer on it, these characters belong to Jeff Davis, and no money is being made from this. That goes for the entire story.

**-Kenxi**

"How long ago did you say this thing attacked you?"

"Just a few days ago."

The files and pictures in front of Scott made it seem as if Kate had been looking for the creature for weeks. Sheesh. Kate Argent was still surprising. Although, he probably shouldn't have been surprised, knowing her past of hunting these types of things.

Scott looked up from the victims' horrific dead bodies to make a face at Stiles across from him about Kate's reply, but Stiles wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was biting a quivering bottom lip and turning his head away from the pictures, his entire body stiff. Beside him, Lydia was only focusing upon the reports in front of her concerning the killings in the area, and next to her, Malia was pursing her lips and appeared to be thinking more than searching for anything.

There had been hugging when the pack had gotten Stiles back, even Malia (it was awkward), and there was some glaring when they saw Kate, but eventually a mutual agreement settled over them to talk things over at Stiles' house where his dad was absent. And so here they sat in the small living room, morbid pictures and reports of the "animal" attacks. Scott made Stiles promise to get his head checked out by his mom afterwards, but he really hadn't seemed too bad other than some bruising. But now he looked like he was going to be sick.

Before he could say anything to his friend, though, Malia fell back against the couch. "Well these really don't look that different from certain cat attacks out there. How are we so certain there is a supernatural monster here anyway? Why are we taking our enemy's word on it?"

Scott sighed. "We talked about this, Malia."

She huffed, folding her arms. Lydia gently put a hand on her arm. When had those two suddenly become friends? Girls are a wonder, Scott thought.

Kate was kneeling on the floor next to the coffee table which held the pictures and reports. At Malia's comments, she stood up, chin held high. "I know I'm the last person you trust right now—"

"Aside from maybe a murderer. Oh, wait," Stiles muttered, staring at his hands.

"—but I wouldn't come to you if this wasn't serious. Now I want this thing, whatever it is, dead. And I'm sure you kids do too. Along with the police department."

The room was still for a moment, everyone feeding their own thoughts. Finally Malia let a "whatever" slip through her lips and that was that.

"Good," Kate clapped her hands, and just like that the cold chill dispersed from the room. "Now these are so far the only killings that appear to be at the monster's fault, but I assume more are to follow. There was even one today, and the deaths are getting closer and closer together, time-wise. Either this thing is in control, or it is being controlled, and I believe the first thing we need to figure out is which one. If we can do that, then we can—"

"It's being controlled," Stiles whispered.

Kate whipped around to look at him. He hadn't even raised his head, just kept tapping his fingers one by one, his lips barely moving as he did so.

Counting.

Again, Scott wanted to say something about his friend's behavior, but Kate spoke first.

"I do believe that's the second time you've interrupted me." When Stiles didn't react, Kate sighed and gave in. "What makes you think it's being controlled?"

Stiles suddenly froze, staring harshly at his fingers. Scott could hear his heart beat stutter, and then it began beating rather fast.

"Stiles—"

"I have to go now. I just remembered that I haven't taken my dad any dinner. He'll forget to eat unless I do. Sorry, we'll talk later." Stiles stood up quickly, almost tripping over his own feet, and started for the kitchen. Everyone just sat silently in bewilderment of the human's behavior.

He was out the door with a brown bag in hand before anyone could get a proper thought working.

Kate put her hands on her hips. "Third time he's interrupted me. I really hope this isn't going to be a habit of his."

00000

Once more Scott did not know where his friend was, and that was nerve-racking.

Normally he really felt that Stiles could handle himself better than most supernatural beings even as a human, but with the way things had gone today, his nerves were being seriously racked.

He used the excuse that Stiles probably had a concussion, so of course he should be worried. But if he told the truth, mostly Scott was just afraid that Stiles was slipping back into his past state when he couldn't tell if he was dreaming or not. Sometimes things like this happened. Little things from the past which Stiles did when he got a bit too nervous or anxious. But the way he had been counting his fingers earlier…he was surprised Lydia hadn't noticed. Or at least she hadn't said anything. Maybe Stiles was with her now, talking. That would make sense. Scott would be okay with that. He just wished someone would tell him something.

It was nearly ten at night now, and Stiles had left around half past eight to bring food to his dad. Apparently the Sheriff hadn't seen him, only got the dropped off food around that time.

Suddenly, there was tapping on his window.

Scott held his breath, but then heard the familiar beating of his friend's heart behind the glass and hurried to open it.

Pulling Stiles through quickly, he immediately gave him a huge hug. Just as quickly, he pulled away.

"What were you thinking? I was so worried! You left over an hour ago! And why did you come in through the window? What…" Scott broke off when he got a look at Stiles' face. Eyes huge and scared, lips shaking, face pale. Well, that last bit was actually normal.

"I need to tell you something, Scott. Now."

He nodded and sat down on the bed without a word. Inside he was just praying that Stiles didn't tell him anything about waking dreams or night terrors or anything. Just praying.

Turned out it was about dreams, but not the way Scott was thinking. This might have been worse.

"I've been having these dreams," Stiles started, pacing the floor as he spoke, using his hands to narrate as usual. "Not very many, so I told myself not to worry, but I think I should start worrying, now." Scott just bit his tongue and watched his friend, not wanting to say anything that might keep him from continuing. "The dreams are the killings that have happened recently. I've dreamt of every single one of them."

Cautiously, Scott tried, "You mean you have seen the reports and have had nightmares about the victims."

Before Scott had even finished the sentence, Stiles was shaking his head fervently. "No, no, nothing like that. If it was, then I'd hardly have reason to worry, right? No, this is so much worse. I'm having the dreams—nightmares—_before_ they happen. The very night someone is killed. And as far as I can tell, the same time they're happening too." Scott couldn't help but stare back at Stiles with a horrified look. Stiles glanced at him, and then away again. "That's not even the worst part. That part is how it's always me killing them. Or at least I'm seeing it through the killers' eyes? I don't know." Stiles ran his hands feverishly through his hair, wincing a little as it tugged at the bruises on his head.

"Why didn't you tell anyone, Stiles?" Scott let out like a breath. With everything going on, what did this mean?

Not the best thing to say. Stiles nearly freaked out. "I didn't know what to think!" He threw his hands in the air, his eyes pleading with Scott. "What could I do, anyway? Things were normal. My dad said this was a normal case, nothing supernatural. What could I have been afraid of? I just…" Stiles dropped to the floor, putting his face in his hands. "I didn't want this to be anything, so I refused to look at it as such."

Scott took a deep breath as he watched Stiles, and he went over to sit next to him on the ground.

"You always did suck at tricking yourself. Everyone else, maybe. But not you. You're too smart for your own good."

Stiles lifted his head to look at Scott and burst out laughing. Scott was a bit taken back, for it hadn't really meant to be a joke, but he quickly joined in too.

"I just don't know how I'm supposed to tell my dad, you know?" Stiles said after a minute of laughing. "I've never had much luck in the dream department all through my life."

Scott offered a smile. "We'll figure it out. Or at least you will. You always figure it out, Stiles. We just need to take control of the situation."

Stiles stilled next to him at his last words. "Control." He turned to Scott, his eyes fierce. "You remember how I said tonight that it was being controlled? Well what if it is? But what if I'm the one controlling it Scott?"

"Stiles," Scott felt a suddenly very serious edge reach the room, "you couldn't possibly. That doesn't make sense."

He wasn't even listening. "I told you that I'm in the place of the killer, right? I'm watching the murders through his perspective, but what if it isn't really that? What if it's my own perspective, Scott? What if I'm somehow connected to this thing, making it—"

"Stiles!"

Said person stopped his tongue instantly from finishing the sentence, but he wouldn't look at Scott.

Scott breathed calmly, somehow, "How could any of this possibly be your fault? You've said yourself that you don't even know any of the victims. Maybe it made a connection with you and is just making you watch as some sick joke. But you are _not_ at fault here."

There was a silence for a long moment. A thick quiet which spread over the boys like a blanket, keeping them safe from more painful words. Stiles finally broke it though, not able to keep his thoughts to himself.

"You told me that, no matter what, I cannot trick myself. Well, Scott," Stiles suddenly met Scott's eyes, an almost painful intensity within them, "tonight I was checking out the places where the victims were killed. It was too dark to see before, in the dreams. Scott, how do you explain that I know every single place where these people have been killed? Near Malia's coyote cave, the small shack we used to play in…."

"Everyone knows about those, Stiles. That doesn't make it about you."

Stiles' eyes glistened a bit and he blinked hard. "And there's the tree in the woods that I used to go to after my mother died. It made me feel safe like nothing else because that's where she taught me how to climb trees, without my father knowing, of course. I know that it's stupid, but it was important, for some reason. It was our special place. I'm the only living person who knows about that tree, Scott. No one else knows."

Scott washed a hand over his eyes. "Stiles, maybe it's just a coincidence. It happens." He didn't know what to say to Stiles at this point. When that kid's mind was set, it was set.

The thing which scared Scott most was knowing that Stiles was usually right.

"Twice is a coincidence, Scott. I've had these dreams more than twice, and more than three times. Maybe I'm not controlling it, but something is." Stiles clenched his teeth and began silently counting his fingers again. "And whatever it is, Scott," he whispered before mouthing the number six, "I think it has gotten into my mind."

And with that he continued to count, reaching ten, and then starting over once more.

**A/N**: Let me know what you think! What is the supernatural creature? How is Stiles linked to it? Reviews will probably make me update faster (wink, wink), but I hope to do so always. We shall see. Thank you so much!

**-Kenxi**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I know. I'm taking too long. Sorry. Life is still crazy. I'll update when I can, but don't give up on me! I shall finish this! :D This is a super duper short chapter, but I did that on purpose. This one is actually pretty intense for how short it is. Thanks, please leave a thought in the review box.

Brace yourselves

-**Kenxi**

The air was nice and cool with a soft breeze in the night, but not cold at all.

Perfect night to kill.

Stiles stared down at his long, sharp claws and black fur in a wonderful satisfaction. With a snarl, he took off running on all fours, the dirt soft under his paws. The prey was only a few hundred feet away—he could smell her. The flowery odor was in the air, and he had heard her heartbeat miles away.

Absolutely perfect.

He was closer now, and that's when she began to run. Alone and vulnerable, but still fighting for life. Still clinging to the cruel world like it was the kindest thing she ever wanted. But no, this would be kinder. If he could grin right now as the monster he was, oh boy, would he. Even then he felt his lip curl up slightly over his razor fangs.

A scream suddenly emitted from the prey, and he leaped on her to shut her up, shoving her into a stone in the ground with the name "Claudia Stilinski" engraved in the center. A crack came on impact, and Stiles felt the life slip away under his claws; he slowly stepped away, disappointed. What fun was it when they died before he could cut into their still blood-pumping body? No fun at all, but whatever.

Stiles walked away, leaving her there without another mark. No point now, anyway.

00000

Miles from her body, Stiles Stilinski woke up screaming.

"Mom!" Stiles yelled as he sat upright in bed. He was shivering. This was wrong. This was all wrong. Furiously he began counting his fingers in the darkness, but instead of saying the numbers out loud, he whispered to himself over and over again. _Mom. Dad. Don't let them in. Don't let them in. It wasn't you. It wasn't you._

Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of Scott putting a hand on his shaking arm, saying something to him slowly, but Stiles couldn't hear it. He didn't want to. It was too real this time. Far too real. Not right. Definitely not right. Hardly a dream at all. That girl…

"Stiles!" Now Scott's shout broke through, shaking Stiles even more than his own body was alone. Stiles just mouthed the word "no," or maybe whispered it, and continued the important mutters.

Scott must have left around now, because suddenly he was back. Scott was back. And now someone else was in here too. Her soft, but callused hands were on his face, and then at his throat. He didn't know what was going on, but it wasn't right. It was happening all over again. _He_ was back. And it wasn't right. _Don't let them in. Don't let them in._

It was getting harder to breathe, but this didn't feel like a panic attack. It was something else. Because something was wrong. Stiles was wrong. His mind couldn't connect anything. He was the one who always figured it out. Always. Connected things. Figured it out. Figured it out.

Almost as if something was trying to share his mind space. Again. The same feeling when… when the evil kitsune was here. Here to kill. He was going to kill again. Stiles couldn't let him. Not, no…

There was some pain in his chest, but that was the only thing Stiles could focus on. That and his feverish murmurs. _Mom. Dad._

_It wasn't you. It wasn't you._

_It isn't right._

_Something is wrong._

And suddenly Stiles jerked his head up and sucked in a huge breath. A thin layer of cold sweat was blanketing his body. The dream…? Someone else had died. That was right, someone had died.

He looked around to see Scott kneeling next to the bed Stiles was sitting up in. That was right, Stiles had stayed over at his house last night because of how late it was. But why was Scott's mom in there? Odd. They were both staring at him with utterly fearful expressions on their faces.

Stiles blinked and turned to Scott.

"What's wrong?"

**A/N:** What the heck just happened? One second everything wasn't right, then it was, then it wasn't…? Please leave a review! Tell me what you think! Thank you so much. I'll update when I can.

-**Kenxi**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Once again, this chapter is a bit choppy and weird. Sorry if this is all really confusing. Hope ya'll stick around and read anyway though. Scott and Stiles feels once more, sorry if you're sick of it, but it's convenient for me. And I apologize ahead of time for the weak humor in the strangest places, but I just felt that under a lot of stress, certain people will grasp onto any humor they can. Hope you enjoy! Leave a review, thanks!

Brace Yourselves

**-Kenxi**

"What's wrong?"

Silence.

Stiles raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, not entirely sure what happened. "It was another dream, Scott. I'm fine, but someone—"

"You stopped breathing," Scott blurted. His voice was shaking slightly, and his eyes were filled with uncertainty, concern. Fear. "Stiles, it was like…." His voice dropped and he looked away from Stiles as if he physically could not make eye contact right then. Not so typical for Scott's big brown eyes. That only made Stiles even more worried for his friend. Melissa didn't appear quite as rattled as Scott, but there was a surety missing from her presence in the room, telling him that_ something_ had happened.

All Stiles wanted to do right then was tell Scott about his nightmare. This one had felt far more real than some of the others, and if they really were coming true, then another girl was dead. Right beside his mother's grave.

The memories of those images stayed with him, and Stiles could feel his sweaty hands shaking above the covers. But clearly something more had happened than what Stiles knew, based on the faces of his second family members. So, as much as Stiles wished to reveal the terrors in his head, he figured it best to humor Scott for the moment.

He folded his trembling hands and sighed. "I don't understand, Scott. What happened just now? You two are looking at me like I'm a kicked puppy. And last I checked, Scott is the dog around here." The attempt at a joke was poor; Scott and Melissa just looked at him, still standing next to the bed where Stiles say comfortably. Well, physically comfortable. His thoughts were haunting his consciousness at the moment.

_You stopped breathing._

"Stiles," Mama McCall tried, stepping towards him. Stiles made no effort to move, warm under the bed covers. Plus he was feeling particularly drained both physically and emotionally. "Do you remember what happened? What you were saying?"

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Just another nightmare. Been having them for years. The Beacon Hills Circus doesn't help much. What happened on your end? You both look like you haven't seen Stiles Stilinski and his nightmares before."

Now Scott was shaking his head. "That's not it, Stiles. You were awake. Counting your fingers, murmuring things like when the…." Again, he failed to finish the thought. But he didn't have to; Stiles understood now.

Like when the Nogitsune was here.

"Either way," Scott continued, only glancing at Stiles every now and again, "you weren't responding when I spoke to you so I got my mom and then you weren't breathing and now—"

"Here I am, like nothing happened at all. No recollection of anything happening? Glad we are on the same page now." Stiles didn't want to act like what Scott just said didn't mean anything. It was kind of freaky, and it sure spooked both McCall's. But the pressure of his recent nightmare was building up behind his eyes. He needed to tell Scott.

Stiles gave him a look when Scott was finally making eye contact with him. "I need to talk to you for a minute alone, Scotty. It's important."

Melissa, who had been mostly silent, nodded slightly but firmly. "I'm going to check you over afterwards, Stiles. From what I could see a few hours ago, you only had a minor concussion, but what just happened was far from normal." No questions asked, she walked out the door of Scott's bedroom without another word. It made Stiles feel a bit guilty that neither of the boys had told her what was going on yet with the deaths. Not that they'd had much time.

"Scott, I love your mom."

The punch in the arm came with no warning.

"Ow!" Stiles yelped, grabbing his bicep with the pain-induced nerves captive. "Dude! What was that for?"

Scott no longer looked worried or scared—now he just looked upset. "That's for almost going into freaking cardiac arrest, Stiles! You scared the crap out of me!"

Still rubbing his sore arm, Stiles frowned. "I already said I have no idea what you're talking about. But we have bigger fish to fry right now. Someone else is dead, Scott."

Now Scott froze. There had been plenty of emotions written on his face in the last few minutes, but now there was nothing. Almost like Scott had no idea what he was supposed to be feeling.

Just as Stiles was about to say something to snap Scott out of his blankness, his friend spoke softly, "I'm sorry, man. What happened?"

"I killed a girl, that's what happened. I think she worked at the gas station down the road. I knocked her into a grave stone by accident and it killed her. It was my mom's grave." Stiles' voice sounded almost without emotion, opposite of the truth, and just above a whisper. He could still feel her soft body under his strong fingers and claws as he shoved her toward the ground, the sickening sound as her skull broke when it collided with the granite. Stiles involuntarily shuddered and pulled the sheets up more against his body to fight the ongoing coldness under his skin.

There was a moment of silence as the two boys thought about what had just happened. For the first time it felt real. Closer than it had before. Before, it was a few people dying on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, people neither of them knew, even in that small town. Now it was someone closer, someone they both almost knew. Why didn't Stiles even know her name? He probably saw her every other day at the station or in the streets. He'd never really gotten to know her, though. And now she was dead.

"It wasn't your fault, Stiles," Scott offered, his voice raw sounding. "I know that these dreams make it feel like the deaths are, but it's not true. There is no one to blame yet, but we will figure this out. You will be okay, I promise."

"Someone is dead, Scott! Others are dead, and I haven't done anything about it because I didn't _want_ to be a part of it. I was selfish, keeping this to myself. If I'd tried to figure something out sooner, maybe at least one less person would be dead. So yeah, Scott, whether I am killing people or not, in a way this is my fault."

When he saw how hard Scott was trying to help Stiles feel better, immediately Stiles felt a slight pang of guilt. All Scott was doing was trying to comfort him, and he probably felt like a crap friend when Stiles didn't let him. Once again he was just hurting everyone around him, effortlessly. Now that he thought about it, Stiles couldn't think of one person he hadn't hurt in some way. His dad, Lydia, Malia, Scott, Mama McCall, Isaac, Allison…. Even the twins, when Stiles had been an evil possessed monster, were affected by Stiles. Sure, it hadn't been him. But it was still his face people saw just before they died or were at least hurt. Now all of these people were dead too. When would Stiles finally learn? When everyone he cared about was dead? And what then? What would become of—

"Stiles?" Scott's soft voice broke through Stiles' dangerous thoughts. "I'm sorry this happened to you, but we are all going to figure it out together, alright? Just like we always do."

There was no way Stiles could even sort of feel like he believed his best friend, but there was also no way he was going hurt his friend more by turning down his attempt to help Stiles. "Yeah, you're right. Of course you're right. Everyone will be okay." Stiles stopped breathing as he realized what he just said. A split second after the mistake, he quickly corrected, "I meant everything. Everything will be okay." Stiles didn't want Scott to see just how worried Stiles was about everyone, for some reason. Like he didn't want Scott to know that everyone wouldn't be okay, because Stiles was just going to hurt them anyway. They were all going to get hurt. Everyone would. They would all—

For the second time, Stiles froze up.

What was _wrong_ with him?

He remembered what he had told Scott last night, before he'd decided to crash at the McCall's instead of his own empty house. _I think it has gotten into my mind._

Had Stiles really let things get so bad that his mind was no longer even his own now? Was he losing himself? Even after over a year Stiles could still remember every second he was awake and himself in the Echo House. The fear of losing his mind so strong and almost tangible, he was afraid he'd choke on it and die there anyway, problem of the Nogitsune solved. Like now, he didn't know for sure what was real in his mind.

_We're going to destroy all of them, Stiles. _

No. He had control. Stiles was in control. He would figure this out.

_One _

Lydia believed in him. Scott believed in him too. They would solve this puzzle.

_By_

No one else had to die. No one was going to die. Stiles wouldn't let them die. Not again.

_One_.

"Stiles!"

Stiles brought his head up and gasped. He must have fallen asleep. Scott didn't look as freaked out as the first time that morning when he'd woken, but there concern was clear in his eyes as he sat on the edge of the bed where Stiles still hadn't moved from.

"Sorry," Stiles mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Just tired, I guess."

Scott blinked.

Stiles raised his eyebrows at his friend, confused. "What?"

"You didn't fall asleep, Stiles. You just weren't paying any attention to me, like you were day-dreaming or something." He paused. "It was probably nothing."

Yeah, cause a lot of _that_ seemed to be going on lately.

Stiles offered a weak smile and patted the covers. "Probably just the concussion."

"Yeah."

Unlike the last silent moment they had, this one was awkward for a minute.

Finally, "So what did happen this morning that freaked you guys out so much? It never was really that clear to me."

Scott perked up a bit at the chance to talk about something he actually knew what had happened for the most part. The thought made Stiles almost snicker. "Well I could hear your heart rhythm going a bit erratic, which woke me up, and I figured you must be having a nightmare. Before I could wake you, though, you started screaming, yelling for your mom, I think." Scott looked away at that, as did Stiles. A lot of his nightmares ended that way.

"I thought everything was fine then, but…" Scott had already continued again with caution, but trailed off for the umpteenth time that night. Or morning. Stiles didn't care enough. Still, he waited for his friend to gather the guts to continue, already pretty sure what he was going to say from what he had previously heard about the episode. "Well I guess I already sort of explained what happened next to you." Stiles made a face at him to show he was still confused, wanting to finally get Scott to say what it was they both knew he'd been trying not to say.

"Fine!" Scott caved. "The way you were acting was just like you were before the Nogitsune fully took over your body." Another quiet settled over them.

Stiles swallowed, but retained eye contact. "Wow, Scott. You know, I think that's the first time you haven't skirted around what actually happened since it happened. Brownie points for you, buddy." Stiles tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace on his face.

Scott scooted further on the bed so that he was now leaning up against the headboard like Stiles was. Stiles tried not to notice his friend's hands shaking on his lap.

"Like you said before, saying things out loud, noting their existence, it makes them real. And sometimes we don't want certain things to be real." Scott clenched and unclenched his hands until they finally stopped trembling.

"Yeah, I suppose being possessed by an evil spirit can be labelled as one of those things you don't want to be real." Stiles said this with a small smile on his face, and he looked at Scott, trying not to laugh. Man, he was really tired.

Scott chuckled a little and punched Stiles in the arm for the second time that day (really, what time was it?) and said, "Gosh, you're an idiot." Stiles just threw his hands up in surrender.

"You didn't finish telling me what happened, jerk. And here you are claiming I'm the idiot." Stiles countered.

"Well you kept saying things and counting your fingers like way back when, and then your breathing got all messed up, but it didn't seem like a panic attack." Scott frowned, looking at the bed comforter. "Your heart was freaking out too and so I got my mom. She didn't know what was wrong, nor did I. It was like you were going into cardiac arrest or something. I don't know. Finally you just stopped breathing altogether. That really freaked us out, and you still weren't responding to anything, but before either of us could call 9-1-1, you suddenly were acting like nothing happened. And you say you don't even remember? Little freaky, bro."

Stiles didn't say anything, thinking.

"Hey," Scott tapped his leg, "you think this has been happening other nights when you have the clairvoyant nightmares? And you just can't remember?"

"I know just as much as you do, Scotty. It could be. I don't know. I'm really starting to wish I'd come to someone sooner about this."

"You're not the only one."

Stiles frowned. "Speaking of, when are we meeting Were-Kate again? Don't remember much of yesterday. There was the whole pointless kidnapping thing, and the thinking a lot thing about the nightmares thing, and then the Malia thing which I _still_ haven't figured out, and then—"

"I get it, Stiles."

"Right."

Scott shrugged. "I had kind of a lot on my own mind too, in case you don't remember. There was the whole pointless kidnapping of my best friend, the worried sickness and Kate Argent thing, and then the you disappearing again thing, the deaths actually being supernatural thing, and—"

"Sheesh, McCall. You made your point."

A shameless grin returned the comment.

"But we should be meeting with her and the rest of the pack in the afternoon. Where we will tell _everyone_ what is going on with you and your psychic dreams." Scott narrowed his eyes at Stiles.

"I'm happy to tell everyone. More people trying to figure it out will make it easier to figure out. Win-win situation."

Scott nodded. "Guess we'll be skipping out on school. Again."

"And we'll probably still have all A's either way." Stiles winked at Scott before quickly sobering. He swallowed. "I also guess we should tell the parents about this soon as well? Maybe Parrish, too?"

"Yeah," Scott replied, jumping off of the bed, "you know they'd both freak if they were out of the loop."

Stiles bit his lower lip. "Right." The idea of telling his dad about his situation was very unpleasant and made him feel a bit sick to his stomach thinking about it. With everything they'd been through, this was the last thing he wanted on his dad's plate. However, it'd end up worse if he didn't tell his dad and he found out later by other means. Yeah, telling him sounded much safer.

Right. Safer. Beacon Hills sure did have a messed up definition of that word.

Stiles' phone decided right then to begin blaring annoyingly as someone called him. He shared a look with Scott before picking it up from the nightstand next to the clock which read that it was 2:13 A.M. Sigh. He looked at the phone; it was Lydia. "Hey, what's—"

"Stiles! What happened? Are you alright?"

He winced at her screaming voice in his ear. "Lydia," he said like a normal person, "pleasure as always." Scott tilted his head in confusion. Just like a puppy.

"Not funny, Stiles. I felt something like ten minutes ago and I couldn't find my phone and I didn't know what was going on—"

"Calm down, Lydia," Stiles tried to placate. "Everything's fine. Well, sort of. We do need to talk, though. What happened?" He felt his chest tighten as a thought hit him. "You didn't scream, did you?"

A beat. "What? No! No, it wasn't like that exactly. It…." Stiles could hear her sharp breathing on the other end. "It felt like our connection was ripped apart. Like you were no longer you. Or there at all."

Stiles felt suddenly very cold. "Like I was dead?"

"No! Well, not really. It was different. I can't explain. But you, sir, are going to have a lot of explaining to do once I see you."

He let out a slow breath. "Of course, Lyds. I'll see you in a few hours. Bye." With that he hung up, giving Scott an exasperated look.

Correction: everything in Beacon Hills was messed up. And for right now, that included Stiles.

**A/N:** If anyone has any requests of what they'd like to see in future chapters, or ideas for the story or characters, please PM me or leave a review! It helps so much, thanks! I hope the chapter was alright. Let me know what you think!

**-Kenxi**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**: This chapter was so intense to write, I think I scared myself a bit. Didn't quite turn out like I expected. I just love writing nightmares, don't you? Make sure to read every word—pretty much everything is important in this chapter. Leave a review! Oh, and I fixed some mistakes from the previous chapter. Thanks ya'll!

Brace yourselves

-**Kenxi**

Lydia was having another nightmare.

As she raced forward, her adrenaline pumping like crazy, she could see _something _a short way ahead, chasing a young woman. The girl wasn't even screaming because of how hard she was running. Lydia could feel it.

In the midst of her blind running, she was at least aware that there was something missing. Like not knowing if you locked the house kind of feeling. Still, she tried to ignore it as she proceeded.

Suddenly, Lydia stopped running. This felt wrong. She wound her arms tight around her body, aware of the chill in the night air. Fog had settled on the ground, the moon casting an eerie glow upon the scene before her.

The graveyard. Whatever that monster was, it was chasing the girl into the graveyard. Up until this moment, Lydia had felt an unknown need to keep running. To follow the beast and the girl. Now, however, she was wondering _why_.

Why was it so important she follow them? Why did she feel like she had a somewhat connection with the strange animal? Something was wrong here. Very wrong.

_You're dreaming_.

Lydia took in a sharp breath at the thought. This wasn't real.

And just like that, everything stopped. The air froze in the atmosphere, the birds stopped rustling in the trees, the breeze stopped playing with her hair, the beast stopped chasing beauty. Everything just stopped.

A slight gasp slipped from Lydia's red lips as she took it all in. For a moment she stood in the timeless space, still thinking and processing the world even as it ceased to progress toward any future. Then, letting the air fall from her mouth, things continued just as they had before.

She needed to follow them.

As soon as the thought reached consciousness, she appeared right where that thing was, several feet forward, as if she had teleported with her mind. She appeared right as the innocent girl screamed. Right as the monster knocked her headfirst down into a gravestone. Never, in a dream, had Lydia felt the loss of life so tangibly before that moment. It was almost as difficult to stand as when Allison had died. At least back then she had been sitting down, not standing.

The killer turned to face her then, and Lydia caught a dimmed view of it. Burning yellow eyes like in an old lantern. Not warm or mysterious like Scott's had been before he'd become an Alpha. Those were more golden than yellow. But these…the fire in them seemed to burn a hole right through Lydia's chest, and she felt herself shaking in fear. Fur covered the animal completely, but it was short and was missing some patches due to scars and new wounds, creating a gruesome image.

There was intelligence in its eyes, however, and she knew that it was not just an animal, but also a man. There was also something strangely familiar about it, just on the tip of her tongue. Its face, then, seemed to curl up in some sort of twisted grin or snarl, and then it ran off into the dark night.

Lydia waited for a minute to be sure it wasn't coming back to kill her, and then she slowly walked over to the dead woman sprawled awkwardly on the ground. She knelt down next to her body and felt tears roll down her cheeks at the thought of the future this human being had lost too quickly. It wasn't fair.

Blinking rapidly, Lydia swallowed hard and saw the headstone nearby which had been what caused the blow to the girl's head, resulting in her ultimate death.

Claudia Stilinski.

Lydia jerked away as if she'd been burned. This was Stiles' _mother's_ grave. What kind of sick coincidence…?

_It's not a coincidence_, a thought came to Lydia's mind.

This was making even less sense than before.

"Lydia!" A voice rang out in the silent night, penetrating her thoughts. She whipped around, wiping the tears from her face.

She blinked in confusion. "Stiles? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" Surely he wasn't coming to visit his mother at this hour.

Stiles was looking at the dead girl in horror. "I did this, Lydia. I killed her."

"What? No!" Lydia shook her head fiercely and tried to explain. "There was some sort of animal out here, not a werewolf, I don't think, but it—"

"It was me, Lydia," Stiles brought his head up and his eyes filled with tears. "I'm the monster. I killed her and all those other people. Well, maybe not me personally, but," his voice shook, "I am _controlling_ it."

Even as she recalled the familiar connection she had felt with the beast, the connection she recognized as being the one she shared with Stiles, Lydia refused to believe it. "How can you even say that? None of this is your fault, Stiles. It's just something we need to figure out again. Like we always do. _This isn't you, Stiles_."

A grin. A cold, slowly spreading, poisonous grin curled its way into all of the good in Stiles' face. And just like that, everything making Stiles who he was disappeared, a demon-like creature taking his place before Lydia. The pseudo Stiles looked hard into her eyes with a glint in his own. Just as the brown in them began to glow yellow.

"It is now."

Suddenly, his body began to form into the monster she'd previously encountered, its yellow eyes burning once again right through her. Already, she could sense that it was true. That somehow, by some cruel twist of fate, Stiles was connected to this thing, to the murders.

And, as Stiles gained this strong connection to the monster, Lydia's own connection to him shattered as easily as dropping a glass. With her banshee gifts, she had a similar connection to everyone close to her. Losing it was deafening in the silent night. It felt like all of the air had been punched from her stomach, and she gasped for oxygen, falling to her knees before the horrible creature. Lydia could no longer feel any presence from the Stiles she knew, the Stiles she loved. Almost as if he'd never existed at all.

An open claw swung for her face, but just as Lydia brought her hands up to protect herself, she remembered something long forgotten.

This was a dream.

00000

Lydia couldn't even scream. Not a banshee scream, but one for her own witnessed horrors within the nightmare. She choked instead on her broken sobs and folded her arms over her stomach, bringing her knees up to her chest as well for good measure. Had anyone been around to see her, they likely would have called an ambulance or Eichen House. Because why else would someone be randomly crying like she was unless there was something wrong with them?

She'd had nightmares for a while now, ever since she found herself a banshee ages ago. Of course she didn't exactly mention them to anybody—didn't want more worry than she deserved—but that was just another down side of her gifts. And they were gifts, not curses, she forced herself to believe.

Back when she was dating Aiden, Lydia actually did tell him about her nightmares sometimes. Doing so would make him kinder when he had something to be kind about. She had liked that about Aiden. He acted so tough sometimes, but Lydia believed that it was really just his way of saying he cared.

No nightmare had ever felt like this before.

It took a couple minutes for her to calm herself, to _breathe_, and to think about what had just happened. Lydia was positive this wasn't a normal dream. There was no way it was. Absolutely not. And at the same time it definitely wasn't real. Stiles wasn't a monster.

Shakily, she sat up and opened her eyes for the first time and immediately froze in her movements. She wasn't curled up in her bed at home.

Lydia was outside.

Not just outside, either. Looking around, Lydia placed her surroundings as being in her dream as well. She was a few yards from the cemetery. From the murder she'd just seen in the dream.

This was less surreal, however. There wasn't nearly as much fog covering the ground, even though there was some. The chill in the air made her shiver, and she retained focus. Same props her dream had, but now filled with realism.

Still, it had all seemed so real. More real than a normal dream. After she woke up from normal dreams, Lydia could rarely remember any details of anything in her subconscious. Just the overall ideas stayed with her. This time, however, she could recall the still existing fear as Stiles turned into that horrible thing, the look in his eyes prior to his transformation, the sharp, desperate scream of the young woman right before her violent and untimely death, Stiles' very presence being torn from her mind. It was all clear as day.

Stiles.

She had to call him. Right then. She needed to check to see if he was still there, still him. Even now she could feel the pain of her lost sense of him. The sense that was still gone.

Somehow, by sheer, dumb luck, her cellphone sat undisturbed in a pocket of her nightgown. Lydia fumbled for it, hands shaking still from the memories of her nightmare. Numbly, she hit Stiles' speed dial, praying he would answer.

The phone stopped ringing, and Stiles' voice sounded in her ear, "Hey, what's—"

"Stiles!" Lydia practically cried out. Tears stung her eyes again, thinking about losing him forever. Somehow she composed herself enough to keep her voice strong. "What happened? Are you alright?" She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

He spoke slowly on the other end. "Lydia, pleasure as always." A hint of sarcasm frosted his tone. Lydia almost began crying, again, in relief.

"Not funny, Stiles," she said, blinking fast. Words fell out of her mouth before she could even properly think of what she was saying. "I felt something like ten minutes ago and I couldn't find my phone and I didn't know what was going on—"

Well, it was sort of true.

Stiles sighed on the other end. "Calm down, Lydia. Everything's fine." He paused, and panic flared up in Lydia once again. "Well," he said, "sort of. We do need to talk, though. What happened?" Now he sounded worried. "You didn't scream, did you?"

Lydia remembered waking up, a scream in her throat that never came out. "What? No! No, it wasn't like that exactly. It…." It felt like you died, she wanted to say. But truthfully, Lydia didn't even know what just happened—she had merely called Stiles in a moment of fear. She swallowed. "It felt like our connection was ripped apart. Like you were no longer you." _Or there at all_, Lydia thought to herself. Wait, did she say that out loud?

"Like I was dead?"

Crap. She did say that out loud. Repairs, repairs. "No!" In a way, though, it was. "Well, not really. It was different. I can't explain. But you, sir, are going to have a lot of explaining to do once I see you." Yeah, explaining why she suddenly was no long emotionally connected to him.

"Of course, Lyds," he breathed out. "I'll see you in a few hours. Bye."

"Wait, Stiles!" Lydia yelled, but he had already broken the connection—the second one broken between them that day.

She groaned into her hands, dropping the phone on her lap as she slumped back onto the ground. She hadn't really told him anything. He hadn't really told her anything. And now she was in the middle of Beacon Hills in her sleepwear, cold and crying and distraught from her so very real nightmare. How did she even get herself into these messes?

Lydia knew she could call back, but it was in the middle of the night, or something like it based off of the darkness. Anyhow, she knew this conversation would be better face to face. Especially since she didn't even know what was going on.

It was dark, nearly black where she sat in the damp grass. Animals skittered in the branches of trees and bushes. How on earth did she even get all the way out here without anyone noticing? Obviously Lydia had sleepwalked. It wasn't the first time, she remembered with a shiver. Before she walked back home, though, she needed to check Claudia Stilinski's gravestone. Maybe her dream meant nothing. Maybe it didn't. Lydia was going to find out one way or another.

The thin nightgown she wore did just about nothing against the morning (or was it night?) cold. Still, she walked against it in her bare feet, following the sound of her beating heart toward the cemetery.

It wasn't often that she went down there, with her ability and all with the dead. She got…feelings about some strong deaths, and it was unsettling. This time was no different as she passed gravestone after gravestone of people who died too young, or they didn't want to leave, or they were taken from the world so horribly that Lydia could feel their pain and shock of it all. For a place of the dead, everything was so…alive.

Lydia knew where Mrs. Stilinski's grave was. Never would she forget the funeral or the destruction in Stiles' eyes as he watched one of few people he loved get put in the ground. Even before she really knew him, she understood that much. Scott had been there too, his hand around his best friend's shoulder as they mourned together for the woman who'd been a mother to both of them. To Lydia, the woman had always been so kind to her. Lydia could remember meeting the Stilinski's after she and Stiles had met, playing in the sandbox when they were around four, before she became the popular school witch and Stiles the weird, quirky kid who battled her intellect. The scene where the funeral of the fun-loving woman took place stood still, several feet ahead in the darkness.

Nearing the space, it was hard to see much at all, courtesy of the night. But the closer she did get, the more the rods in her eyes made out the prone form on the ground near Mrs. Stilinski's gravestone on the grass under the blanket of fog. Lydia could feel her heart pound even harder in her chest as her nightmare was literally coming true.

The girl's dead eyes stared at nothing from the ground. Blood stuck to her hair and plastered onto her face from the blow she'd taken, ending her life.

What felt like very distantly, Lydia heard herself scream into the darkness.

**A/N:** Gah, this was a creepy one. I made a lot of references to a lot of things in here, so let me know if any of you caught them! Do you think Stiles is actually the monster in Beacon Hills? Or merely a pawn? The whole thing with his broken connection to Lydia is odd…. Please write a review! Your thoughts mean so much to me. Yes, your thoughts. Thank you!

-**Kenxi**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** So I decided that I am going to just write the story, or at least know for sure where I am going with it, before publishing. From now on. This is a struggle, and I apologize for that. Since it has been so long since my last update, going back to read through the story once more might be for the best. Again, so sorry for the slow updating. Life is so hectic. Love ya'll!

**Here is a recap just in case**. If you don't need it, skip this paragraph. So far Kate Argent has returned because she was attacked by a strange creature much bigger than a werewolf. She kidnapped Stiles as a way to make a deal with Scott for the pack's help. The thing has killed only a few people, but every night it does, Stiles has a dream where he sees it happening but he didn't tell anyone except Scott after he was kidnapped. Stiles figures he is somehow connected to or controlling this beast because of his dreams and because where these people have been killed are places that are special to him. Before this chapter, Stiles had a dream where he was the thing and killed a woman on his mother's grave. In the last chapter Lydia dreamt that she saw it kill the same woman on the same grave, and then she saw Stiles turn into it before waking up near the cemetery. She went to that same grave and found the dead woman, which means at least part of her dream was real. And here we are. Hope enjoy this chapter despite my flaws, thanks!

Brace yourselves

-**Kenxi**

Although it was still far too early to be awake, the boys had stayed up talking anyway. Through an unspoken agreement they had both decided that neither could sleep with everything going on, and that it was safer if they weren't so susceptible to nightmares.

They were just revisiting the time Stiles had convinced Scott to steal Coach's whistle when there was a sharp knock at the door.

Stiles swiped a hand over his face. It had been about an hour since Lydia had called, him telling her to talk with them later. Honestly, though, he was partially surprised it had taken Lydia this long to get here.

After a shared glance at one another, the boys made their way downstairs to the door. Mama Stilinski had already gone back to bed, so they tried to be as quiet as possible. Stiles swung the door open.

Before he could even greet her, Lydia launched herself into his arms, nearly causing him to fall over. Stiles grabbed the wall behind him to steady himself with one hand and wrapped his other arm around her, surprised at the dampness of her long hair. "Sheesh, Lydia. It's nice to see you, but it's not like you haven't seen me in the last twenty-four hours."

When her laugh came out harsh, forced, and half sobbing, that's when he knew something awful had happened. Stiles pulled her away from him slowly to look at her.

Big green eyes greeted him, glossy with tears. They were rimmed with red, so he knew she had been crying for some time. Grass dotted her hair and clothes…was she wearing a nightgown? A tan jacket way too big for her was probably all that kept her from freezing. His father's sheriff jacket. She had spoken with his dad? And she was shivering, but for some reason, Stiles sensed it was not just from the cold.

He brought his head up to see Scott watching her with the same expression Stiles himself felt across his face. The same question of what had happened.

"It was a dream," she whispered, hands grasping Stiles' arms tightly as if he would disappear. "Or, I thought it was." Well that didn't exactly explain the grass or his dad's jacket, but it did explain the phone call some.

Another shared look with Scott, who then asked, "What happened?"

Stiles gently pulled her toward the living room. She looked so scared that he was afraid she might break. Lydia may have been a Banshee with sharp wit and bravery, but there was something about her that always made him want to protect her.

She slowly lowered herself down onto the couch, still holding onto Stiles like her life depended on it. Or his did. "A girl was chased by that monster who is killing people, and he killed her." She gripped his wrists tighter. "You were the beast, Stiles. I can't remember everything exactly, but I watched you transform into it, and when you did I felt our connection break. It felt like when Allison died. I just knew that _you_ didn't exist anymore. I still can't feel you."

Scott was sitting in the chair beside them, his dark eyes huge. "But it was just a dream, Lydia." Stiles shot an alarmed look his way at that.

_Dude!_

Scott spread his hands out like, _What?_

"I woke up from the dream," Lydia continued, her voice sounding far away, "to find myself near the cemetery where I had seen the woman killed. After I called you, I went right to where I had seen her body in the dream, right by your mother's grave." Stiles felt his jaw tighten as she suddenly brought her head up to look at him. Tears began falling from her cheeks.

"Her head smashing into the stone of her grave was what killed that girl. And when I walked over there, I saw her. Lying in blood on the grass just as she was in my dream. Stiles, my dream was real. It happened." She ducked her head. "I called the police after that. I told your dad my dream, but not the part about you."

Stiles sucked in a breath and pulled his hands away from her. "Good."

"Stiles," Scott warned. "

"No, no it is good. Because I'm not the monster, Lydia. I was here, with Scott, this whole time. But, you want to know what is interesting? I had the same dream as you, right before you called me. Not exactly the same, though. No, of course not. Because instead of watching her get killed, I killed her myself. I had claws and everything. So no, I am not that thing, but I do believe I am controlling it. People are dying because of me—again. No surprise there, right? Of course not. Because—"

"_Stiles_," came out a low growl from Scott's voice. Stiles saw his eyes flash red for a moment. Voice back to normal, Scott said, "You're freaking out. Just calm down."

Standing abruptly from the couch, Stiles threw his hands in the air. "This _is_ calm. Some sort of animal is running around, killing people when I tell it too. Of course I'm calm."

"Why would you say that?" Lydia asked in disbelief. Clearly she was still in shock.

Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Scott was right. He was freaking out. Lydia had just given him proof that Stiles was at fault for these deaths. How could he not freak out? "Where these people have died are all connected to me somehow. Important places to me. And then I've also been having dreams about every person who has died, approximately the time they have been killed." He offered a fake smile and ran his hands through his hair to keep them from shaking.

"Now you tell me that you feel as if I have died and see me in a Banshee dream that I am the monster. I think this should be cause for concern, don't you think?"

There was a moment of silence where both Lydia and Scott just stared at the ground. Stiles just paced the floor, feeling awfully jittery. Finally Lydia wiped her eyes and stood up. Surprisingly, her stance was strong and the spark of her regular self returned in her eyes. "You have dreams about people dying, and you're just telling me _now_?"

Stiles stopped pacing. "Yeah, about that—"

A hard pounding on the door stopped him in his tracks. He made a move towards it, but Lydia grabbed his hand to hold him back. "Wait," she said tersely. Fear laced the word.

Scott was just about to open the door himself when it was suddenly thrown open. Malia allowed herself in and turned immediately to Scott. "It's here."

"We know," Stiles responded. "It just killed someone about an hour ago."

Malia shook her head fiercely, and her eyes washed over him for a second, pain/anger flashing in them at Stiles' hand still in Lydia's. Stiles would worry about her feelings later though. She focused on Scott once more. "No. It's here now, at the hospital. It's like a warzone over there. We need to hurry—everyone else is on their way or there already."

They all stood frozen.

"Now!" Malia barked at their blank faces. Everyone was so exhausted, and the repeated shocks of the night were not helping anyone. What was going on?

They took separate cars, thank goodness. Scott, the saint he was, offered to drive Malia while Stiles would take Lydia. It made him wonder if Lydia had walked all the way over here from the cemetery after talking to his dad.

Crap. His dad.

Hysteria almost made him laugh out loud at the idea of telling his dad what was going on here. Stiles himself hardly knew. The creature was only attacking people in places that were important to Stiles, only when he was asleep. So Stiles had to be controlling it somehow, right? But it didn't make sense because he didn't want anyone dead. He didn't even know what was going on, but it was clear something was. He just needed to figure out how and why.

A hand on his shoulder brought him from his thoughts. "Slow down, Stiles. Don't kill us on the way to our deaths." Lydia smiled at him, even though it was weak. Both of them were pretty weak, now that he thought about it, to be going towards the evil killing machine. Lydia may not have been exactly human, but she was just as vulnerable as he was. It wasn't like she could scream everyone's brains out as a weapon. And Stiles didn't even have his baseball bat anymore.

Yet they still always managed to make their way towards danger anyway.

While Stiles did ease his foot on the gas of his beloved Jeep, he didn't focus any less on getting to the hospital as fast as possible. What they humans would do when they got there, he had no clue.

They did arrive. In one piece, too. Nurses, doctors, and even patients were running out of the hospital screaming. Why did the monsters always attack the hospital anyway? Or the school, for that matter? The woods would be a better place to kill someone. Honestly.

The thoughts felt strange in his head. Why was he even thinking about that?

"Stiles," Lydia reached out and took his hand again. Third time tonight. It made Stiles wonder what it must have been like to see what she had seen that scared her so much.

The two were standing outside of Stiles' poorly parked Jeep in front of the hospital. Thinking once more about how human both of them were, he hesitated going inside. The rest of the pack was probably there. Fighting. How useful would the brains of the group be against a giant wolf-like animal?

He thought about all the times they had saved everyone else's lives though, and, with a smile, he raced inside the hospital, pulling Lydia Martin alongside him.

00000

It really was a warzone.

Damage ran along the walls as if some places had been hit with a sledgehammer. Wounded people lay on the ground, and others tried to help or ran outside to save themselves. The beast had already been through here.

Why would it come here anyway? Stiles was awake, too. It didn't make sense. He didn't really have a connection to the hospital other than—

His heart thudded against his chest. "Stay here," he spoke hoarsely to Lydia. "I-I think I know why it's here."

"What?" she folded her arms across her chest. She still wore her nightgown which made her look more like a patient at the hospital than a savior of it. "You are not going without me."

He shook his head. "I have to do this. I swear I know what I'm doing." He didn't. "But I have to go alone. You need to help these people. Get them to safety." Something in his tone must have stopped her.

"I can't lose you, Stiles. Not after what I just saw. What I felt."

Stiles looked away, knowing that her big green eyes would stop him from leaving if he made contact with them. "You won't lose me. Really. I'll be right back."

She finally let out a breath, a sign that she had caved. "It's still here, Stiles. Be. Careful."

"Please. I'm the Master of Careful."

A smile danced on the corners of her mouth. He turned away, but as he did he heard her say, "More like the Master of Dangerous Situations." Okay, maybe.

He stepped through the hospital quickly enough, but it all felt too slow. The elevators weren't working, so he walked up flights of stairs. The ripped walls and trashed utilities were everywhere he went. A few times he stopped to help someone in need. No one had died that he'd seen which was a relief because it would be his fault.

Finally he made his way into her room. His mother's room. The one she had died in. It was so long ago, but he still remembered the room she had been in. He still remembered watching her die, among other things. Few moments of clarity had remained with her those last months. It still haunted him.

Looking around he immediately decided the monster wasn't here. Had it already gone upstairs from this floor? That must have been where his friends were since he hadn't seen them on his way up. He'd only passed floors of chaos. Few were left on this floor.

Then Stiles heard a small cough. It sounded as if it came from his mother's old room. Was someone still in here? He walked farther inside to see.

A small head appeared from behind the edge of the hospital bed. "Don't hurt me," came a voice. Very young and definitely a girl.

"I won't hurt you. It's okay, you can come out." Stiles kept his voice soft and reassuring. It worked.

The girl stood up. Her eyes were huge and frightened. "You'll help me?"

"Of course. Let's get out of here." He needed to get back to Lydia. Find their friends.

"Oh good." Stiles froze. Her words were suddenly confident without a sign of fear in them. It caused him to draw back slightly.

"No, don't worry. We can help each other, Stiles." The little girl walked towards him from across the room. She was grinning in such a malicious way, it didn't seem possible for such a young girl. Something was definitely wrong here. His blood felt electric with how aware he was now.

Stiles slowly backed up towards the door. He cautiously asked, "How do you know my name?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I know your name. You and I have been working together for a while. Couple weeks now, isn't it? I'm the supernatural creature you've been looking for, obviously."

Crap. The thing was a shapeshifter? A little girl?

He certainly hadn't expected that.

He turned to run out the door, but it suddenly flew shut, trapping them both inside the room where his mother died. Did she do that? How…?

"Yes, a shapeshifter," she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Stiles glanced around for any sort of weapon. Wait, had she just answered his own thoughts?

She was about three feet away from him now. With her height, she came up to about his hip. "For someone so smart, you really are quite dumb, Stiles. You came up here alone to, what, save another victim?"

"Honestly? I hadn't really thought that far ahead." He was stalling. His confusion and fear slowed his mind, and he couldn't think clearly enough to figure out what he was going to do. Things were looking pretty bad right now.

"Please. I'm not going to kill you." Creepy, hearing a child say that. "Why would I ruin such a perfect working relationship?"

Seeing there was no way out, Stiles finally stopped fidgeting enough to ask, "Who _are_ you?"

She laughed. A high pitched, shrill laugh that would probably haunt the rest of his already haunted dreams. "I think the better question is 'what am I?'"

Okay. So a human who turned into a monster at will. A were-something? Were-bearwolf?

"Not quite what you're thinking, dear. I am not a monster." The face of her suddenly appeared to melt, before morphing into a different one. Her body grew until she was about his height. Dark, shoulder length hair. Eyes that were the same as his own. Stiles stopped breathing. It was his mother.

"Mom?" It came out in a gasp. He could barely breathe.

"Don't worry, Stiles dear. You're mother has not come back from the grave." She was now right in front of him, smiling so tenderly it made him remember all those times she read to him. Back when she was healthy. Alive.

"Okay," Stiles shakily replied. "What are you?" He had pushed back so hard against the wall, he wondered if he might actually break through it. Part of him longed to stay with this vision of his mom, and the other part yelled at him for being so utterly weak.

His mother was glowing with happiness. She touched his face gently, her hands soft and warm. Stiles closed his eyes, recalling all so many times where she had done this very thing. He felt a tear streak down his face. When he finally did open his eyes, his mother was gone. Another person had replaced her.

Long brown hair. Dark eyes. Slim, strong body.

Malia.

"I'm anyone or anything I choose to be," Malia said haughtily. She pressed a hand on his shoulder and another against the wall behind him. She leaned forward and forced her lips against his own. Stiles was too shocked to do anything other than let it happen. His thoughts were so jumbled, he wondered if he could even tell up from down anymore. It wasn't real. This wasn't Malia, right? There was no way Malia was the beast. What was going on?

She pulled away, and tilted her head to the side, staring into his eyes. "Or would you rather someone else?" Once more her face shifted, her height shortened. Brown hair turned strawberry-blonde. Eyes turned green. Lydia.

"I know this one has only kissed you once, but it was good, wasn't it?" Lydia's face asked. Lips pressed against his again, this time as Lydia's. She felt so real that it was all Stiles could do not to react to the kiss, to her. Gathering his nerve, he reached up and pushed her back.

"What are you doing?" Stiles breathed out. Lydia was rarely this close to him, even if it wasn't really her. It felt wrong. Even her clothes had changed into ones he'd seen her wear before.

The fake Lydia curled her lips into such a strange and unlike Lydia smile, it was all Stiles could do not to gawk at her. She brought one hand down so that both hands were on his shoulders, near his neck. "Whatever I want," came the hiss, and her lips came crashing into his once more.

**A/N:** Yep. Getting weird now! I was really thrown off when they brought something actually called The Beast in season five. Looking a lot like I pictured it. There is no relation though, as this takes place after season four, before season five. Please review! What do you think this supernatural thing is? What does it have to do with Stiles, and why is it even in Beacon Hills? These questions will be answered in the next chapter. Please review! And I will hopefully update much sooner. Thanks!

-**Kenxi**


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